Beyond Words
by Faux Promises
Summary: 100 word prompt challenge, various themes and length. Spy/ScoutMa
1. 1-20

**A/N: **Doing a 100 word prompt challenge, derived using a random word generator. These will be posted in sets of 20 at a time.

x x x

**01. Defamatory**

His anger peaked as he poured over the collection of photographs, carefully snapped during a moment of passion. Derisive comments about himself could be tolerated. As for comments about her, he was not so certain he could keep his temper in check.

**02. Tick-Tack-Toe**

The woman from Boston drew a clean line through the three X's, her nose wrinkling slightly in victory. She _always _seemed to beat him when it came to trivial games such as these. He hoped inwardly that their dinner would arrive soon as she drew up another board.

**03. Ability**

"Bullshit," she replied casually, and he couldn't quite bring himself to continue his sentence. She knew every time, every _single _time, when he was lying.

**04. Language**

It wasn't often that he returned to speaking his own language at length—it had been years since he lived among those who spoke it. But the little moments, when she took his hand, when her skin was bare against his...that was when he seemed to find himself once again returning to it.

**05. Inadvisable**

"You better visit me this week—I ain't kidding," she scolded into the receiver. "Wear the mask for all I care. I just wanna see ya."

It was a terrible idea and they both knew it, but the wheels were already set in motion.

**06. Scoundrel**

Arm tangled with his, her body leaned against him slightly as they walked the foggy morning shore together. It was a much needed vacation, after an extended period away from home.

As a younger man in her company, he had already known she would be exclusive to him, that he had found his match when he hadn't even been looking. Twenty years of traveling the world later, however, his pride had to concede that she would always the only woman whose loving touch he could permit.

He fancied himself impervious to guilt, but the fact remained that he had a careful code of honor that did not allow other women to get up close and personal with him. Granted, he did have a habit of making himself invisible most of the time.

Some casanova he'd turned out to be. But then again, perhaps the greater feat was to create a convincing illusion rather than to live it.

**07. High-Rise**

From a suite far up over the city, he gazed down at the far-reaching expanse of lights and buildings below. He hadn't been sure what he would bring her back from this little excursion, but now he found himself reaching into his suitcase for his camera. While he could not bring her back this view, he certainly could capture the moment in time.

**08. Precipitation**

The young Frenchman opened the umbrella over her head as they emerged into the rainy Boston weather. He still couldn't quite believe it when she reached up to place a quick kiss on his cheek, a muttered thanks for dinner accompanying it.

**09. Headway**

"How long d'ya plan to keep it from them, honey?" she sighed into his chest. "I said until they were grown up, not until they were old men."

But he could only shake his head. He had made no progress whatsoever in telling his sons the truth, and somehow that seemed more of a crime than abandoning them altogether.

**10. Squander**

No one could doubt that he had expensive taste in cars. The red Ferrari stood out against the bright blue desert sky like a gleaming oasis, one of only two things in this godforsaken state that kept him sane.

But still, he promised himself, guilt rearing its ugly head once more. The next paycheck he would take her to Europe or something—somewhere she had always wanted to go.

**11. Betroth**

She couldn't stop smiling the next day, fidgeting with the ring on her finger as though still in disbelief that it truly was there.

**12. Abhorrent**

He could hear the younger man talking loudly from the adjacent battlements.

"I mean, how would _you _feel if it was _your _Ma with some guy like that?" the Scout huffed to his fire-loving teammate, whose nonexistent expression revealed very little as to his opinion. "I mean, he's got a billion other women on the planet to sleep with, and it just _has_ to be her?"

The man in the balaclava suppressed a sigh as he darted back into the field.

**13. Unleash**

One hand slid smoothly up her thigh, brushing at her hip in a familiar fashion. She rested her face against his shoulder as she nodded off to sleep without a care in the world. The day would never come, he thought, when he could truly understand how she brought out this tenderness in him.

**14. Thief**

"You're a thief, Rey. Birds fly, grass grows, and you gank everything that ain't nailed down." She said it plainly to him one day after having witnessed him steal the third wallet of the day.

His eyebrows came together at this, shrugging."But I've never stolen anything from you. Isn't that worth something?"

The girl from Boston just smiled slyly. "I wouldn't be so sure about that."

**15. Obfuscate**

"Mundy, you must _never _speak to anyone about the nature of our relationship," he told the Sniper with a flourish of his cigarette toward him. "You finding out at all was an accident. I can't have her in danger."

This last sentence was spoken more softly, almost more sincerely. Less about anger and more about the tiniest amount of fear.

"Guess I'll have to find another explanation for the black eye," the marksman replied sarcastically, chuckling. He doubted anyone would believe the truth of it anyhow.

**16. Penitence**

His face had found its way into her neck. The heat of the summer was thick, but his full attention was invested in his lips on her pulse even as a trickle of sweat ran from his temple.

It hurt her to admit these days that a certain apologetic sadness settled itself in the moments he spent lavishing attention upon her. He had always had his reasons to feel some guilt about their union, but more so than ever he seemed to think himself the real monster that he was compelled to protect her from.

**17. Suppose**

"I mean, wouldn't you have been happier stayin' single for all this time?"

He looked up from his glass of champagne, giving her an expression that must have been nothing short of deadpan. How many guns did he need emblazoned with her image to get it through her head?

**18. Immoral**

The trail of bodies he left in his wake meant nothing to him, not as long as he could go home to her in the end. Whatever it took to return to her arms, to keep their family safe and off the street—he would sell his soul to the devil.

**19. Coup**

He didn't have the same control over himself that he had formerly known.

When she looked over at him, he felt weak in the stomach. When she took his hand, his knees were fit to give out.

And when she shared a kiss with him that night, he wanted nothing more than to be with her always.

**20. Drug**

Careful fingers slid the strap from her shoulder. He could feel her breathing quicken as he trailed kisses along her throat, creeping down to the nape of her neck. Her own hands splayed across his chest as she leaned into his embrace.

He couldn't even bring himself to worry about the next day when he was with her in the silent darkness. Warm lips pressed full against his, and the world fell away around him.


	2. 21-40

**21. Catnap**

Spread out on her back across his lap, the Spy knew very well she had not truly fallen asleep. He rolled his eyes before returning to his newspaper.

**22. Jeweled**

The ring he had proposed to her with sat gingerly in the palm of her hand. The young woman reclined back on her bed as she examined it more closely, fascinated by the way the light from the lamp caught the facets.

She wasn't sure if the beauty of the diamond or how it had come into her possession was more surprising.

**23. Sense**

From the moment the idea settled into his head, he had known it would mean nothing but trouble.

Now here she was hastily removing his clothing, a swear or two in that familiar accent escaping her here and there as they fumbled in eagerness. He slid one finger mischievously under the clasp at her back and watched as her face flushed with anticipation.

He pushed that nagging sensation of being watched to the back of his mind as she pushed him against the sheets.

**24. Jest**

Even at his age, she could still get a rise out of him with a well-placed joke at his expense. The Frenchman was thankful that the balaclava now hid his face, which had the slightest bit of color in it from her teasing.

**25. Authentication**

The single knock at the door signaled he was home for the night. Though the boys were fast asleep, she couldn't help feeling anxious that someday their clandestine relationship might someday come to light.

**26. Untie**

Meticulously manicured nails worked his tie from his neck, something akin to a purr in his chest as she leaned in for a kiss.

**27. Tourist**

"I don't know if I like this so much," she complained, toying with her hair in discomfort. "It's sorta weird havin' you translatin' for me and all."

The Spy glared at her as he set down the menu, a few dark wisps of hair hanging in her face. He wished she didn't look so very nice tonight, as it completely wrecked his ability to get irritated with her occasional pouting.

**28. Willpower**

He supposed Sniper did not understand, even now that he knew his secret. For a man like himself it likely seemed odd to be married, much less to be a faithful mate. Perhaps even laughable when you thought about it properly.

But for him marriage was not a matter of willpower or constricting commitment. Friend or not, his pride wasn't about to let him admit his affections to a colleague.

**29. Fail**

The intimate photos did not lie. Years spent being careful about his comings and goings, and at last they were caught.

**30. Past**

"I'm sorry—I'm talkin' all about my life and I don't even know where you're from." She rested her head on her hands. "I mean, I can guess, but I ain't met too many people like you around here."

The Frenchman's eyes darted to the side, unnerved by her sudden question. He was loathe to talk about his country of origin, currently still overrun with foreign enemy and ally alike. Something about the softness of her expression, however, warmed him up to the notion of sharing more of himself with her.

**31. Expect**

She had spent the better part of twenty years waiting for a day when he would return—not just for a day, or a week, but for good.

**32. Timeless**

The music reached its peak as he dipped her low, two bodies moving smoothly together in time to the sound. Her smile only grew when his lips grazed her neck as the song drew to a close.

Truthfully, he had not been fond of dancing when she first had asked him, years back, abashed and wholly uninterested in something so frivolous. But his career had found him at quite a few parties with dancing, and lacking his partner, he always took the opportunity to watch and learn.

Though he still wasn't fond of it himself, he did enjoy testing out what he had observed with her, much to her eager delight. At first it would be unpracticed and out of sync, full of her giggling and a bit of snorting laughter on his end, but that was always half of the fun.

**33. Luck**

How exactly he managed to avoid death for as long as he had, neither of them could even guess. She didn't imagine her prayers alone had ever been enough.

**34. Forgot**

She whispered it in fondness, hissed it in frustration, sometimes outright laughed it. His name, a name he would have hardly recognized as his own if not for her presence in his life.

And when she spoke it in passion, that needful tone she knew how to execute perfectly, he was at her mercy.

**35. Fair**

The first time she had thieved his cigarettes from his coat, _while he was wearing it _no less, he knew with perfect clarity that she could beat him at his own game.

**36. Patience**

It struck her as interesting, that he was proposing to her, and had not yet even once told her that he loved her. She had waited to hear it, tenaciously longing for confirmation that hid beneath his layers of deception. Layers she supposed protected his ego that happened to be much more tender than he would ever admit.

She knew it to be true. The words were right there in plain sight, so utterly obvious in his eyes—the way he looked at her. The way he spoke, the way he touched her. Still just beyond her reach.

But she would wait.

**37. Alike**

The Frenchman found it terribly troubling sometimes, how much of himself he saw in their youngest son. He was egotistical, quick to brag to both enemy and teammate, and had a soft spot for his mother that they both shared above all else.

Maybe it was for this reason that he had little mercy for the Scout on the battlefield.

**38. Guidance**

Sometimes, when he found himself trapped deep behind enemy lines, his eyes would trace over that etching of her that decorated his trusty revolver. Particularly when his teammates were of little support to him, he found this proxy of her reassurance to be exactly what he needed to push onward.

**39. Linen**

Her skin had a clean and subtle scent to it, not of perfume or smoke, but one that fit her perfectly.

He adored it.

**40. Gawk**

One neatly arched eyebrow had raised in amusement. _"What, see somethin' ya like?"_


	3. 41-60

**41. Enthrall**

A cigarette dangled from her lips as she stood dressing across from him. The newlywed Frenchman watched with some amusement as she tied her hair ribbon before even reaching for her lingerie. Her body fascinated him, even artistically speaking—slender legs and smooth hips. Blue eyes darted up her form, lingering for a moment as he admired the alluring shape and symmetry of her breasts.

The dark-haired woman glanced over at him as he lit his own cigarette, not oblivious to the enchantment he had briefly fallen under.

**42. Sample**

She glared harshly at her husband for a moment as he dipped another finger into the bowl.

"Save some for me to _cook_, honey."

**43. Mortality**

Not until the first time a bullet grazed his shoulder did he truly understand the situations he placed himself in. She only chuckled when next he saw her, collecting her in a grateful embrace when she reached up to kiss his cheek.

Next time, he always promised himself, he would be more careful.

**44. Salve**

The Bostonian woman did not seem as surprised when he returned that evening with an obvious knife wound across his back—another fight. It did not run as deep as it could have, a minor laceration, but he flinched nonetheless as she gently cleaned and dressed his injury.

Fortunately for him, blood did not bother her in the least. However, the sight of _his_ blood, and in so great a volume, left her pale. He caught a glimpse of this in the mirror beside them and swore to himself.

**45. Stealthy**

She was an incredibly light sleeper, something the Spy was reminded of every time he came home late from work. No matter how quietly he slid in beside her she would always stir awake, and he had begun to suspect that she would not allow herself a peaceful rest until his safe return.

**46. Snowfall**

If there was one thing he could not stand about Boston, it absolutely had to be the winter. He dusted the powder from his coat as he entered their home and headed to the kitchen to find a warm pot of coffee already waiting for him.

The note on the table read simply "_Shopping – be home soon." _

He cracked a smile as he filled a mug. There was nowhere else on the planet that he would rather spend these cold months.

**47. Laugh**

His laugh died off with a snort, and before he had the chance to be properly embarrassed, she had already slipped her arms around his neck.

**48. Agency**

He had always had the option to go straight, this much he knew. Already a few no-questions-asked missions with the US government had been sent his way over the years, which perhaps was a testament to his reputation among his contemporaries.

Still too devious to settle for one side of the law, he kept the option on the back burner for now.

**49. Ransom**

At times he regretted his path in life, one where he must always keep his silence about having a wife and family. He did not suppose he was the only one of his kind to have such an arrangement, though certainly one of very few to do right by them.

Proud and grateful as he was, he could not ever let this information slip, let alone fall into the wrong hands.

**50. Splay**

Slowly she separated her long fingers out against his chest before pushing him with a bit more force against the back of the couch. Brown eyes briefly fell closed as his own hand found its way to her hip, some sly assistance in settling her comfortably in his lap.

**51. Remedy**

The clock read a quarter past ten o'clock as the Spy sat gingerly at the kitchen table, trying and failing to hide his displeasure at the chamomile tea in his cup that replaced his usual Scotch.

"I'd very much prefer if you at least _told _me about these sorts of changes first," he muttered from behind his hand, where he had taken to resting his head.

But she only smiled in reply.

**52. Beast**

She had a persistent habit of reminding him that he was a good man, and it was only out of love that he no longer allowed himself to correct her.

**53. Stride**

Within a month's time of becoming acquainted he already finds himself slowing down as she catches up with him, her shorter stature inhibiting her speed. It gives him the perfect opportunity to steal a glance or two now and then, fascinated by the way the skirt of her dress whips and billows with the wind.

**54. Motherhood**

He always knew she would be a loving mother, a theory confirmed as he watched her holding the bottle for their newborn son and smiling all the while. Feeling a bit left out, he still did not feel so confident that he could be a good father.

**55. Defiant**

She still wore blue on the regular. It had been her favorite color for as long as he could remember. By day the color of his enemies, but so benign and warm when it was associated with her.

As his tongue darted along her lower lip, surrendering himself for all intents and purposes, she carefully worked at sliding him out of his signature red pinstriped coat.

**56. Cage**

No matter how much he loves what he does, he knows it isn't enough for him. He's reminded of this every time he sees her watching him leave from the doorway, and this time, with their son in her arms.

**57. Artifact**

"Wait, it does _what _now?"

The Spy placed the golden device back in his breast pocket, shaking his head curtly. It was probably better that he kept the truth behind this particular piece of equipment to himself.

**58. Tall**

She had to stand up on her toes to kiss him, so he would lean down and meet her halfway. Sometimes an insistent tug at his tie or collar reminded him to do so, that she might have better access—that she might remove that infuriating red balaclava.

His gloved hand twitched, his instincts reminding him to remain hidden always. But then her delicate hand reaches for his as though she already knows, and he _refuses _to let old fears ruin this, this _one _thing that he treasures.

**59. Argue**

They have their disagreements, naturally, as two people who can never be wrong often do. The true test of will, however, was to see who would apologize first.

So he would arrive home with flowers in hand and a sadness in his eyes that he struggles to hide. She's silent on the couch, perhaps reading, and his favorite dish waiting for him at the table. Once his face is pressed into the side of her neck, he knows he will sacrifice his pride every time.

**60. Smile**

She has those cute little dimples, and he makes a point of finding any way to get a smile out of her. Even if it means occasionally exploiting her ticklish spots.


	4. 61-80

**61. Hopeless**

Her flirting confused him, given that she seemed so unlike the sort of girl who put any kind of stock in romance. Much like himself, actually, and he found that entirely irksome. Tomboyish and outspoken as she was, he expected she thought something like love to be nothing but a waste of time, a distraction meant for fools that fall behind.

As such, a chance for her affection seemed like a long shot, but he refused to relinquish the possibility.

**62. Gunpoint**

By the time he was twenty-five years old, the Spy had already had guns as well as all other manner of weapons pointed at him. He had seen his own blood seep through his clothing countless times—ruining countless suits, no less.

The greater task, however, was in making sure she never had to live through the ridiculous ordeals he put himself through, all in the name of some misplaced pride and sense of adventure.

**63. Equilibrium**

He wanted more than anything to get this right—this first time for the both of them, heated and eager, their senses caught up in the spontaneous passion they had thrown themselves unwittingly into. Her reactions led his own movements, and even in his inexperience he had managed to find a pace and alignment that worked for them, eliciting an increasingly positive response that kept him encouraged.

Judging from her nails scrambling up his back, digging in the slightest bit, he supposed the initial discomfort she had shown was gradually receding as his lips moved to her shoulder, concentrating on an instinct to keep going, his unpracticed stamina slipping, until his vision swam with an intense high. He endured through his own dazed state, hoping she would be feeling the same, and then—

Her hum of pleasure against his neck brought the world back into balance, her body shuddering briefly. This time had no desire to withhold the words of fondness that left him as he ran his fingers through her hair, so fortunate to be in her arms—even if she would not understand his language, he did not think his meaning to be unclear.

**64. Guise**

He had worn so many disguises in his life, redesigning and attuning himself to a role he wished to play on any occasion. It became customary for him to test them out on her when she didn't expect it, the perfect way to measure just how effective his transformation had been.

**65. Debate**

It wasn't so bad, the Frenchman thought, allowing her to believe she was right about something even when she was not. Worse, however, was admitting when she _was _right, because she simply did not let him hear the end of it.

**66. Scowl**

"C'mon honey, _smile_."

Her urging gleaned only the smallest of smiles from him as she snapped the photograph. She wanted to be able to recall that expression he always wore, that in-the-know wolfish smirk, no matter what the distance between them.

**67. Shave **

The slight roughness to his face, grazing against the side of her neck, sent a quiver through her body. She felt his body relaxing in her arms as she pressed a comforting kiss just below his ear, and for all his masculine posturing about protecting her, she suspected that he truly did believe that _she _was the one—the only one—with the power to protect him in kind.

**68. Pain **

The Frenchman had known every sort of injury in his time, from bullet wounds to knife lacerations, but they did not scar him anywhere near as deep as the fear that one day she might leave him.

**69. Vanish**

His hand ghosted over the button at his wrist, shrouding himself in invisibility as he rounded the corner. The act of disappearing had always seemed so entirely natural to him that the realization of this feat briefly made him feel giddy with power. He wished dearly that he could show her his new toy, but given the limitations of his rights to use it, he would have to settle for telling her instead.

**70. Student**

She had an entire drawer full of schoolwork and art made by the boys, each one carefully stored after they had served their time on the fridge or wall. Sometimes it would be late at night when he returned home from his work, tiredness and anxiety written on his face, but he never refused her offer when she wanted to show him something new that one of his sons had brought home.

It wasn't what she intended, but there were days when she sensed a certain feeling of despair in his manner, as though the reminder of all that he was missing nearly overtook the joy.

**71. Spaniel**

The family dog had been a gift from him, unbeknownst to the boys. He had figured boys needed a dog, though not perhaps as much as they needed a father. The Spy put the thought out of his mind as he presented the floppy-eared dog to his wife, explaining vehemently that this one was to be _their _responsibility, not hers. His wife smiled with amusement as the puppy wriggled around excitedly in his hold, her small paws kicking at the air.

At least it would give them something to do besides drive their mother crazy. Judging from her reaction, however, he supposed she might enjoy having an animal around as much as the kids would.

**72. Brat**

It had become commonplace nowadays for the younger man to react viciously at the sight of the Spy, sometimes going as far as to foolishly make a mad dash straight for him in defiance of a much better strategic option.

The Frenchman could not entirely be faulting of him for it, being that from the boy's perspective he was simply protecting his mother. For someone young like he was, it was a fairly natural reaction to act impulsively. That was his style of fighting, after all, to come through with force and worry about consequences later.

But that cocky attitude on the few occasions that the Scout _did _win made him wonder how he could've rubbed off on the boy so much without raising him.

**73. Narcissist**

The Spy had a certain devious habit of teasing her at times. It had become customary for him to feign attraction to a mysterious, unnamed woman, extolling her characteristics at length, only to reveal with a fit of snorting laughter that it had been she that he was describing all along—and how could she have not figured that out herself?

Once she caught on to it, however, she secretly looked forward to what praise he would come up with next, knowing full well from the almost dreamy look in his eyes that he meant every word of it.

**74. Classified**

He knew that he _technically _shouldn't tell her too much about what he did, lest he either worry her or burden her with information that she didn't need to know. But she was his confidante, after all, and who else could he share his most dangerous secrets with?

She always was better than him at keeping secrets, after all.

**75. Imaginary**

Every so often he wondered what their life would have been like if he had been a different man. Worked an honest job nine to five, spending the weekends out on the town with her, always back in time to tuck the boys into bed.

But then reality would come crashing back down, and the gun was still in his hands, the dark room silent. He hid it carefully before laying his head back against the pillow with a sigh. The space beside him in the bed was empty, seemed to always be empty these days, and he turned away.

**76. Manipulation**

The Spy had picked up very quickly on how to use others for his own purposes, even when it often meant biting back his own sharp tongue to instead give some false compliment or smile. Lying did not bother him, because he held the firm belief that words were only as true as the person hearing them wanted them to be.

He hadn't been in the business of manipulation when he first got to know her, though he desperately wanted to believe he was. His ego could breathe easier at the thought that she was merely his partner out of necessity and opportunity, rather than the alternative explanation, the one that caused his throat to tighten when she would scrutinize him in some way.

It was not until he found himself kissing her that he realized she had been leading him into it all along, waiting to give him the opportunity. Maybe she had not entirely noticed she was doing it, but after all, his pride was far more fragile than hers. And when he at last found his courage, his fingers brushing at her neck, drawing closer to her than he ever had dared before—she was leaning in too, and he could hardly believe it when they met halfway in a kiss, that petty ego of his all but forgotten.

**77. Pale**

The amused expression on her face baffled him, only until he caught sight of his own exposed countenance in the mirror. Light-colored patches of skin stood out starkly again tanned areas, around his eyes, nose, and grimly set mouth, everywhere that the balaclava normally concealed. The desert sun had left him with a bizarre mask burned into his flesh for as long as he would continue to wear it.

**78. Shame**

For many years the Frenchman had considered what he would one day say to his boys when he finally could see them face to face—grown men, no longer boys. He had constructed all of these explanations and even apologies in his mind, the conviction he had once had about his choices all but withering when he pictured their expressions full of accusation.

It seemed fitting, then, that he should be watching one of them charging toward him with nothing but hatred in his stance. Something cold and dead inside of him stirred as he leveled his revolver straight between the BLU's eyes. In the end, he could blame no one but himself.

**79. Penniless**

He had spent a significant portion of his savings on the engagement ring, a modest diamond that did little to enunciate his true sense of devotion. The jeweler he had bought it from seemed to regard him with some level of suspicion as he counted out the money, as though the mannerisms of a criminal were so utterly evident in the young man. Perhaps just as perplexing that such a man would be buying a ring, but as with everything in his delinquent life, he would keep it a secret.

**80. Briefcase**

She could hardly believe, when he recounted the story to her, that she had somehow become a topic of interest among the two factions. And all over some dispute about some mostly-useless intelligence, something the Spy emphasized that the BLU team had in very short supply.

This comment resulted in a joking whack on his head with the damn folder full of photographs, with a sharp reminder that he would _not _be insulting her son under this roof.


End file.
